


the rumours are terrible and cruel (but honey most of them are true)

by LadyAlice101



Series: the lady of winterfell - s7 au [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Undercover Lover Jon, ah that sounds like i think she isnt usually, and really gosh darn smart, but like its just really obvious in this story, but only bc she's a bamf, he's a lil bit of a mastermind but also kind of not really, sansa is a bit ooc, which she def is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:26:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAlice101/pseuds/LadyAlice101
Summary: Instead of sending Brienne as an emissary, Sansa goes with her to the Dragonpit.Jon's pretty surprised to see her there.They have a lot to talk about.





	the rumours are terrible and cruel (but honey most of them are true)

**Author's Note:**

> There is genuinely no reason for sansa to have gone south, and it creates a lot of plot problems lol, but who gives a fuck this is fic i'll do what I want. 
> 
> I wrote this probably the day after the finale aired, but then I sat on it for a while, not sure why, but then I read retorica's story 'we sail together' this morning which had the same premise, but attacked it at a completely different angle than my story (and it's really good btw, defs go check it out), and so i decided to post mine as well. 
> 
> in terms of timeline, bc i did actually have something in mind for this - basically everything that sansa experienced at winterfell before the finale still happens as is. but then her story during the finale is pushed back to happen after she gets back from king's landing. so, it doesn't change at all, i'm just casually slotting in a whole other experience for her. 
> 
> unbeta'd

 

Sansa follows closely behind Brienne. She wishes she weren’t back here, surrounded by these people that she hates so fiercely, within arms reach of Cersei yet again. The single respite is that she’s away from Littlefinger.

She’s mildly excited to see Jon again, but she’s no fool. She knows how likely it is he’s bent the knee already, and she’s dreading the argument they will have about it; because being back here only reminds her why she will never let the North be under Southron control again.

They are walking towards the Dragonpit, but she knows first they are going to greet Jon’s party. There’s a nervousness in her gut at what his reaction will be to seeing her here.

There is shock written clearly on his face as he spots her, and he steps towards her, his arms outstretched. He’s wearing the cloak she made for him.

He thinks better of coming towards her, as Bronn of the Blackwater steps forward.

“Welcome, Mi’lords,” Bronn says, and Sansa’s gut twinges in annoyance.

 _King,_ she thinks.

“Your friends arrived before you did. I’ve been sent to escort you all to the meeting.”

Tyrion is with them, and as their own group parts to let Jon’s through, Sansa catches Tyrion’s eye. He looks shocked at seeing her there, and Sansa wonders, for the first time, if she is actually not meant to be here.

The group begins walking, and all around Sansa see’s people reuniting, probably for the first time in years. It’s bittersweet.

Jon walks straight towards her, and takes her arm. They hang back slightly, so those around can’t hear their conversation.

“What are you doing here?” Jon hisses.

“You’ve gotten angrier since being in the South, I see,” she snarks.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sansa, seriously. It’s unsafe here.”

She shrugs. “You’re here.”

“ _I_ can protect myself.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I brought Brienne.”

They both look forward, to where Brienne is talking with The Hound.

“You’re keeping honourable company, I see,” she says sarcastically. “How _is_ your diplomatic mission going, Your Grace? You’ve been on Dragonstone for oh so many moons now, and we have received one shipment of Dragonglass and naught but a word from you. Convince the Dragon Queen to help, did you?”

“Sansa –“

She waves her hand at him, tired of playing this game with him already. “The Lords are furious, Jon,” she says urgently, gripping his arm and stopping him. “If you do not return soon, with or without the help you set out to get, they’ll take your crown. They’ve already tried.”

He frowns at her. “Sansa, I –“ He breaks off in frustration and wipes a hand down his face. Seeing the party walking too far ahead, he starts to follow again. “It’s complicated.”

She clenches her hands at her sides. “Oh, and I suppose the nuances of politics are too complicated for your pretty sister?” she spits.

“That’s _not_ what I meant,” he tries to nullify her anger.

“I’m not a child, Jon, and I am _not_ an idiot. How about I tell you a story, and you correct me if I’m wrong.”

He purses his lips, but nods once.

“She did not want to help. Would only come to our aid if you bent the knee.” He nods in affirmation, so Sansa powers on. “I would guess that because the Dragonglass is useless to her, she offered it to broker peace. From what I’ve heard of her and her politics, I doubt it was her idea. Probably Tyrion’s, he’s always had a mind for settling both sides. Is it sounding familiar?”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares stoically ahead. Sansa knows she’s right anyway.

“Neither of you get anywhere, because she won’t help without you bending the knee – and I have quite some commentary on _that,_ but we don’t have time – and then – well, and then, we have the Wight Hunt. How could you be so stupid, Jon?”

He frowns at her, then jerks his head towards the box in front of them being carried by the guards. “It worked,” he grunts.

Sansa sighs. “My guess, from how guilty you’ve looked since you first set eyes on me, is that you bent the knee.”

His mouth twitches.

“You fucked her, didn’t you? Seven Hells, Jon! I _told_ you to be different to Robb –“

He pulls them to stop again, mildly astounded at her improper language.

“I didn’t fuck her,” he says testily, through her vulgar words back at her, crossing his arms. “And who I bed is not of your concern.”

Sansa rolls her eyes heavenward. “You gave the North to your whore, Jon, I think it is.”

Jon raises his brows in shock at her language, again. Then, he pulls her into a hug. She is so surprised she can only blink, her arms dangling at her sides.

“Hug me back, Sansa,” he says into her ear.

She does as she’s told.

“We cannot discuss this out here, but it is something on which I urgently need your help. Please, please, just believe I am doing this for the North.”

His words confuse her, but as she focuses on a tree behind his back, a spot becomes visible in the distance.

Dragons.

“You’re pretending to love her, aren’t you?” Sansa whispers. The way his arms tighten around her tells her what she needs to know. “That’s a dangerous game, Jon Snow.”

He pulls back from her, then smiles sadly. He cups her face in his palm, and says softly, “I _will_ protect you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys’ arrival is dramatic, as Sansa knew it would be as soon as she saw her missing. Coming in on the dragons is smart, if extremely pretentious, and Sansa would have done it herself if she had them. Except – aren’t there supposed to be three?

Sansa has to hand it to Cersei; the bitch may be cold-hearted, but let it never be said she isn’t brave.

_You almost sound as if you admire her._

The tension is palpable, all these people meeting together, some for the first time, some reuniting after the harsh wars.

_I learnt a lot from her._

A lesson of which she emulates now, sitting stoically on her chair, Brienne on one side and Jon on the other. It is Jon she keeps her eyes on the most, though she makes sure to take in Cersei as well.

Jon plays the part well. He looks in awe constantly, though he probably always is. Daenerys _is_ impressive.

Sansa sniffs and looks away as Jon meets her gaze.

She would be far less impressive without her dragons, Sansa thinks icily, something like jealousy sitting in her gut.

Sansa sits through the introductory statements, taking particular interest in the dynamic between Cersei and Euron. There is jealously there, in Jamie’s gaze, and Sansa has little wonder at what Cersei promised Euron in return for his loyalty.

It is when Jon stands that she shifts her focus back to him. He doesn’t say anything she hasn’t heard before, and it most certainly is not her that he has to convince of the threat. And so her eyes slide slightly to the left, to Daenerys.

She is sitting with the poise of someone who knows they were born to be Queen. Sansa herself wore it once, before she realized the burden of attaining a crown was too much.

Daenerys meets her gaze, and curls her lip slightly. Maybe a smile to other people, but Sansa has been here before. She need only look slightly to the left to see that expression reflected on Cersei.

It’s the look of someone too mad to rule justly.

When Clegane releases the wight – the one that Jon had almost died to get, the fool – something strange happens.

Cersei’s arms wind around her gut as she scrambles back into her chair. _Protecting herself?_ Sansa wonders. _Or . . .?_

The question makes Sansa uncomfortable. She wouldn’t know if it were true, and really, she hardly cares. But it gives Cersei an ulterior motive, and that Sansa _does_ care about.

 

* * *

 

 

Cersei demanding that Jon remain an independent third party is of no surprise to Sansa, and she can hardly believe the shock on Daenerys’ and her advisors faces, as if they hadn’t considered such a possibility.

Sansa would have agreed instantly, if she was up there, or if Jon gave her a say. Not choosing sides was exactly what they wanted, but apparently Jon has other ideas.

Jon looks to Sansa, then over to Daenerys. Sansa leans forward intently, willing him to not open his stupid mouth –

“I am true to my word.”

Sansa parts her lips in distress at his words. This game must be hard for him, this act of an undercover lover. But if she is interpreting his words correctly, which she probably is, then he’s about to fuck today’s game all up.

“Or I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot serve two Queens. And I’ve already pledged myself to Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen.”

Well. There is it. There is disquiet amongst everyone, shock on their faces and an uncomfortable tension works its way through the air.

Sansa turns to Cersei. Surely, she will not stand for that.

And the rage is clear on the other Queen’s face as she spits, “Then there is nothing left to discuss. The dead will come south and you will deal with them. We will deal with whatever is left of you.”

Jon looks almost heartbroken as Cersei sweeps past him with her advisors. Brienne stands and calls out for Ser Jamie, but Sansa only has eyes for Jon.

He turns to her as well. And there, just slightly, his mouth flicks up into a smile.

Sansa sits back harshly, resting her forehead in her hand, her mind racing. Surely, this is not part of his ploy. It is dangerous, and risky, and not even something Sansa herself would have dreamed up.

It has too many variables, too many things that could wrong. It would bank on someone still being able to convince Cersei to fight with them, because otherwise what is the point of him coming here?

But maybe – maybe he didn’t fuck it up?

Because maybe whether or not Cersei fights adds nothing at all to his plan. Maybe he wants her join him, but not desperately enough that he will not endeavor to undertake his most important goal; for Daenerys to trust that he is loyal only to her.

Sansa bites her tongue harshly, the pain bringing her back to herself. She will not add any commentary on this situation without first speaking with Jon. She will not endanger whatever plan he thinks he has in motion.

Because if there is one thing that she does know about Jon Snow, it is that he tries to be true to his word.

And he will die trying to protect her.

 

* * *

 

 

She and Jon do not talk to each other here. They have much to discuss, but it must all be done privately. There is no topic for them to talk about that can be overheard by prying ears, and she is too tempted to clarify what the fuck is happening, so she speaks with Brienne and Podrick instead. She sees Jon walk off, and soon thereafter Daenerys follows him.

Sansa purses her lips, but tries to keep focused on what she is talking about with Brienne and Pod.

She tries, so desperately, to stop her eyes from flicking over towards them. They go into an alcove, and Sansa shifts uncomfortably. This feeling, which she would name jealously if he weren’t her half-brother, is so palpable in her it makes her skin tingle.

When he steps closer to Daenerys, Sansa cannot look any longer. In fact, she looks the exact opposite way, and can no longer focus on what Brienne is saying.

When Cersei marches back into the Dragonpit and announces she will fight with them, the relief that sweeps through everyone almost threatens to drown Sansa too.

But she remembers back to when the wight came at her, and the thought that had niggled at Sansa’s mind. If Cersei is pregnant . . . then she only has even more reason to lie.

Sansa comes to stand next to Jon, and gets as close to him as she can without raising any suspicions or looking improper.

“I know a private place we can talk.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa does not speak, and does not let him, until they are far away, safe in the most secluded spot she remembers this far from the Red Keep. It’s down by the water, and while it isn’t much, it will serve their purposes.

“How are Arya and Bran?” he asks quietly, coming to stand next to her. If she were to shift only slightly to her right, their shoulders would be touching. She longs so desperately for the contact, but remains still.

Sansa laughs shortly. “Arya has come back an assassin. Bran is the Three-Eyed Raven.”

“The – what?” Jon looks so confused that it makes her smile.

“He has visions,” she informs him. “And Arya takes peoples faces and wears them herself.”

Jon just shakes his head incredulously. “We’ll deal with that once I’m back in Winterfell,” he mutters.

“Oh, so you _are_ coming back?”

She thinks she has figured out most of his plan, but until it falls from his own lips, Sansa can’t be sure. And seeing him beside Daenerys, stepping close to her in such an intimate way, has made a bitterness unfurl in her gut that she cannot squash back down.

She has no idea where it comes from, just that it is so blinding it is controlling her thoughts.

He hesitates. “I’ll be going back to Dragonstone first.”

She crosses her arms to hide that her hands are shaking. _No,_ she wants to scream, _please come with me._

If she is not careful, her anger will make him clam up and not tell her a word. So she takes a deep breath, and turns to him.

“Jon,” she says, as gently as possible, “I really need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Are you sure it’s private here?” he asks quietly.

She takes his arm and moves them closer to the water, further from the trees where people could be lurking and listening.

“You should have been the one to go,” he says eventually, looking out over the water, the sun glinting beautifully. “Everything you said is true. I was so underprepared.”

Sansa stays silent, pursing her lips. There is no point in agreeing with him now.

“She took our boat,” he says finally. “No matter what she said, we were prisoners. The things she did – fuck. Sansa, I will _not_ let her rule the North.”

“Is she really that bad?” Sansa asks, fear gripping her heart. If she is, how will the North ever be safe from her?

“She has a good heart,” he reveals after several moments thinking. “I do believe that she wants to make the world a better place. She is a strong leader. But she is a conqueror, not a politician. She believes that the Iron Throne is her birthright, no matter that the Targaryen’s were overthrown so if she takes it back she’s just as bad as the Lannisters. She makes poor decisions, because she thinks that because she was born to rule, and because the Lannisters are so hated, that everyone will be alright with it.”

Okay. Okay, that Sansa can work it. It means she can see logic and reason eventually. And now she is so focused on the threat to the North, Sansa has time to plan what to do.

“And so please enlighten me on how you hatched this plan of bending the knee and warming her bed.”

“I didn’t set out to do it,” he replies. A strong breeze ruffles his hair and coat and all Sansa can think is how great a man he has become. “It just became apparent that she was – and that they thought I was – and it affected the decisions she was making.”

He stumbles over his explanation, but Sansa can fill in the blanks. She was attracted to him. They thought he was attracted to her.

“And you think she’s in love with you?” Sansa asks, clenching her hand in her dress by her side.

He shrugs awkwardly. “Maybe. I don’t know. Almost, maybe.” He shifts on his feet, looking away from her face uncomfortably. “Enough so that she is tempered and takes my opinion into account over her advisors.”

“And you?” she asks softly. “Are you falling in love with her?”

The way he frowns and runs his hands over his hair makes dread settle in her gut. She pretends she only cares because she’s worried his plan will fail if his feelings compromise him. But somewhere, at some point during their conversation, she has recognized what the ugly thing she’s feeling truly is.

And it is so shameful she will never admit to it.

He takes a step away from her, growing even more uncomfortable. “She is – I would be a fool not to - . . .” She would giggle at his awkward stumbling if it didn’t make her so envious. “No. No, I am not falling in love with her.”

Sansa breathes a sigh of relief, followed by a, “Good.”

He looks at her so curiously she wonders if she’s betrayed herself. To cover up, she rushes to add, “It would only make it harder if us if were compromised in such a way.”

Jon takes a step closer to her, and then another. Sansa’s heart beats furiously, then stops altogether when he puts both his hands on either side of her face.

“I will keep the North safe,” he vows, “but I will never, never compromise your safety, Sansa.”

“Thank you for protecting our family, Jon,” she whispers, because it deserves to be said and he deserves to hear it. But the surprise that flicks across his face makes her wonder if it was their family he was talking about – or, maybe . . .? She feels foolish for hoping that he cares specifically for her the way she does for him, like that stupid little girl again who thought the world was a song and one day a brave knight would sweep her off her feet.

She brings him into a hug. “I’ll see you back in Winterfell,” she says against his cheek, her forehead pressed to his hair.

“I’ll be there shortly after you. Stay safe.”

And then, because her stomach is still tingling with possibility, she presses her lips against the corner of his mouth softly. Before he can say anything, she turns away and walks back up from where they came, leaving him standing there.

She has something to take care of before he gets back.

 

 

 


End file.
